Wizard and glass - Stephen King [283]
Susan dreamed of the willow grove—bird and bear and hare and fish—and what woke her wasn’t Sheemie’s return from his necessary but a cold circle of steel pressing into her neck. There was a loud click that she recognized at once from the Sheriff’s office: a pistol being cocked. The willow grove faded from the eye of her mind.
“Shine, little sunbeam,” said a voice. For a moment her bewildered, half-waking mind tried to believe it was yesterday, and Maria wanted her to get up and out of Seafront before whoever had killed Mayor Thorin and Chancellor Rimer could come back and kill her, as well.
No good. It wasn’t the strong light of midmorning that her eyes opened upon, but the ash-pallid glow of five o’clock. Not a woman’s voice but a man’s. And not a hand shaking her shoulder but the barrel of a gun against her neck.
She looked up and saw a lined, narrow face framed by white hair. Lips no more than a scar. Eyes the same faded blue as Roland’s. Eldred Jonas. The man standing behind him had bought her own da drinks once upon a happier time: Hash Renfrew. A third man, one of Jonas’s ka-tet, ducked into the hut. Freezing terror filled her midsection—some for her, some for Sheemie. She wasn’t sure the boy would even understand what was happening to them. These are two of the three men who tried to kill him, she thought. He’ll understand that much.
“Here you are, Sunbeam, here you come,” Jonas said companionably, watching her blink away the sleepfog. “Good! You shouldn’t be napping all the way out here on your own, not a pretty sai such as yourself. But don’t worry, I’ll see you get back to where you belong.”
His eyes flicked up as the redhead with the cloak stepped out of the hut. Alone. “What’s she got in there, Clay? Anything?”
Reynolds shook his head. “All still on the hoss, I reckon.”
Sheemie, Susan thought. Where are you, Sheemie?
Jonas reached out and caressed one of her breasts briefly. “Nice,” he said. “Tender and sweet. No wonder Dearborn likes you.”
“Get yer filthy blue-marked hand off me, you bastard.”
Smiling, Jonas did as she bid. He turned his head and regarded the mule. “I know this one; it belongs to my good friend Coral. Along with everything else, you’ve turned livestock thief! Shameful, shameful, this younger generation. Don’t you agree, sai Renfrew?”
But her father’s old associate said nothing. His face was carefully blank, and Susan thought he might be just the tiniest tad ashamed of his presence here.
Jonas turned back to her, his thin lips curved in the semblance of a benevolent smile. “Well, after murder I suppose stealing a mule comes easy, don’t it?”
She said nothing, only watched as Jonas stroked Capi’s muzzle.
“What all were they hauling, those boys, that it took a mule to put it on?”
“Shrouds,” she said through numb lips. “For you and all yer friends. A fearful heavy load it made, too—near broke the poor animal’s back.”
“There’s a saying in the land I come from,” Jonas said, still smiling. “Clever girls go to hell. Ever heard it?” He went on stroking Capi’s nose. The mule liked it; his neck was thrust out to its full length, his stupid little eyes half-closed with pleasure. “Has it crossed your mind that fellows who unload their pack animal, split up what it was carrying, and take the goods away usually ain’t coming back?”
Susan said nothing.
“You’ve been left high and dry, Sunbeam. Fast fucked is usually fast forgot, sad to say. Do you know where they went?”
“Yes,” she said. Her voice was low, barely a whisper.
Jonas looked pleased. “If you was to tell, things might go easier for you. Would you agree, Renfrew?”
“Aye,” Renfrew said. “They’re traitors, Susan—for the Good Man. If you know where they are or what they’re up to, tell us.”
Keeping her eyes fixed on Jonas, Susan said: “Come closer.” Her numbed lips didn’t want to move and it came out sounding like Cung gloser, but Jonas understood and leaned forward, stretching his neck in a way that made him look absurdly like Caprichoso. When he did, Susan spat in